


What Would Sam Vimes Do?

by VorpalGirl



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ankh-Morpork City Watch, Discworld Rules For Divinity, Gen, Humor, Lawful Good Characters, My First Work in This Fandom, No One Is Above The Law, Not Even Gods Are Above The Law, Not Really Character Death, Rules, Sam Vimes: God of Watchmen, Sequel, Stubborn Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VorpalGirl/pseuds/VorpalGirl
Summary: "What Would Sam Vimes Do?"Well, he'd arrest the god, wouldn't he?...what did you do when the godwasSam Vimes?





	What Would Sam Vimes Do?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mister Vimes'd Go Spare!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/244534) by [Lunik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunik/pseuds/Lunik). 



> Much like the Discworld books, you don't *entirely* need to read the one before this to enjoy it (one of my betas "doesn't even go here" and was able to follow it just fine), but as this is written as if it were a direct sequel to Lunik's "Mr Vimes'd Go Spare!" and given it technically spoils the ending of that one-shot by its nature, I highly recommend you read that fic first (it's super good anyway). 
> 
> Apologies if any Americanisms slip in, by the way; I tried to channel my inner Brit as best as possible, but only those from the UK could probably tell me how well I pulled it off or not. Lemme know in the comments if I should tweak anything! :)
> 
> (Oh, speaking of which - in addition to Lunik for their magnificent fic that inspired this, my gratitude goes to "hubris-i" over on tumblr for catching at least some of the first draft's Americanisms, to Lady Kittenfair for giving this a quick beta read, and to Joy Demorra for both leading me down this rabbit hole and helping me connect with other Discworld fans to run this by) 
> 
> On with the show, shall we?

  
Vimes was surprised to hear he had a ‘visitor’. Anoia had popped up to inform him of such, and cryptically noted:

“It’s one of yours, naturally.”

“One of my _what?_ ” he said, having no patience for Cryptic, especially after a few days of dealing with gods.

( _Fellow_ gods, he reminded himself. And he was still faintly annoyed at that.)

She shot him a Look. “You’re the God of Watchmen,” she said dryly. “What do you _think_ I mean by that?”

He blinked. “…a Watchman came to see me?”

“Apparently.”

“…here.”

“Yes.”

“…in the center of the damned world, on the top of its highest bloody peak?”

“I may be the Goddess of Lost Causes,” she replied. “But I don’t like to repeat myself, Vimes. _Yes,_ there is a Watchman, here to see you, the God of Watchmen.”

Her tone didn’t help his mood any, but neither did the implications. “Whatever the hell for?”

Anoia rolled her eyes. “She won’t say. Merely that it is ‘very important, and quite urgent’ that she see you. You know how followers are, sometimes.”

“No, I bloody well don’t!” he said, glaring at her. “Some of us haven’t been at this terribly long!”

“No -  _one_ of us hasn’t,” she said. The reminder that he was the newest, youngest god was surely intended to put him in his place. It didn’t.

“Right,” he said peevishly. “So I’ve no idea what you mean by that, now would I?”

She shook her head, rolled her eyes again. “Nonetheless,” she said, as she strolled out. “You appear to have a petitioner - your _first_ one, I might add, and one determined enough to come _here_ , which I might add is quite the rarity — and she is at the front gate. If you’re so hung up on duty and responsibility and all, you may actually want to go and see to that. Just a thought.”

He glared after her retreating back, but, well, she…was somewhat right.

He surely had to at least go and see what this nonsense was about, even if just to tell them to sod off and solve their own bloody problems.

He sighed, straightened his helmet, and stormed off to see what the bloody well was worth bothering the entire God of Watchmen about.

 ***

He had expected to see someone with a panicked, or at least worried, expression — surely if it was worth hassling a god in His own home, so to speak, it was something truly urgent, or at least it damn well better be — but was surprised to see she wasn’t.

No, she was calm. That kind of surface-level calm that a copper develops after years of learning to school one’s expression and roll with the punches.

He was both somewhat relieved, and immediately suspicious.

“Here, Now,” he said, voice Intoning without even intending it; she jumped slightly at the loudness and reverberation, so he cleared his throat as she turned to him, and made Efforts to sound at least somewhat normal. “What’s all this about then?” He glanced at her uniform; though it differed slightly from his, he still saw the Ankh-Morpork Coat of Arms on the armor. “Long way from home, are we?”

To his surprise, she smiled at that.

He didn’t quite like how she did; it seemed a tad overly-patient, as if she were merely indulging him before getting to brass tacks.

“Yes, I suppose we both are, Your Grace. You are, I presume, Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh, current God of Watchmen, then? Not that I’ve had the pleasure,” she said, with what he could swear was a brittle edge. “Of meeting you before, but — the old Watchman’s uniform, circa his original era and location and featuring the old version of a Commander’s shield badge — would seem to suggest it.”

He snorted. “Yes. Trying to impress me, are you?”

“Not at all,” she said lightly. “Just ensuring that I’ve found the correct individual, is all, Sir.”

That ‘Sir’ seemed somewhat like an afterthought, and he had distinct flashbacks to countless uncomfortable conversations — mostly interrogations — where he had had to maintain Professionalism.

He grunted. “Aye then, you have. So what did you _want?_ ”

She frowned thoughtfully then. “Ah, you see, we’ve had a little incident at the Watch House I work out of,” she said.

“A little incident, hm?” he said dryly, knowing all too well the range of _incidents_ that could be called _‘little’_. “And why, exactly, could you not handle this on your own?”

She sighed. “Well, you see, Your Grace —” _ah yes, going back to more Formal Official titles are we?_ He thought. _Definitely trying to ask a Favor._

She looked him right in the eye as she continued mournfully: “Dreadfully frustrating, that. You see, a quite belligerent individual, stormed right into our Watch House, and destroyed a rather important and necessary piece of Watch property. A piece of Watch property that is rather expensive to replace, so we’ve yet to be able to.”

He goggled. “And your lot didn’t arrest him on the spot!?” he said.

“Well, Your Grace,” she said, her tone apologetic. “Ordinarily one would, of course. However, those on duty were a bit taken aback, you see; the individual in question left quite shortly after, and the identity of said individual — well, Sir, you see — it was an individual reported to be of apparent supernatural power, beyond that of most mortals and on par with what I am told is common for, perhaps, a lower-mid-tier deity…”

A flash of anger went through him, and had he not gotten a fair amount of practice at restraining it lately, he was certain it would have been accompanied with thunder as well.

“You’re saying _a god_ did this? To an Ankh-Morpork Watch House!?”

“I know!” she said enthusiastically. “Right? The gall of it! And wandered right off after, without so much as a by-your-leave! And then of all the luck, the Patrician and the actuarial department for the City, they all say you know, the maintenance budget and insurance and all of that? They don’t cover ‘acts of gods’ - the financial buggers all insist that’s the kind of Unpredictable that just is never covered. So we’ve had to deal with just truly _dreadful_ levels of inconvenience working around this, and they’ve got us having to raise our own funds from within the Watch to repair it, and we’ve only gotten halfway to budgeting even the cheapest possible replacement —”

 _ **“Which God?”**_ he said, in the sort of tone that had already been terrifying to anyone with half a lick of common sense even before he’d been raised to divinity.

She paused, eyes widening just slightly, and he realised: Ah, of course, he was taking this out on the wrong person. Better save the Wrath for the appropriate guilty party. He reined it in, and cleared his throat.

“Have you been able to identify the suspect?”

She swallowed, cleared her own throat, and straightened; he silently noted this with approval — excellent recovery, there. “Well,” she said, reaching for her notepad. “Yes, actually. I’ve spoken with at least one of the officers who was on duty that night, and happened to witness the incident — a very reliable chap, our oldest current Watchman actually, I believe you may know him? Sergeant Dorfl?”

“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes, _very_ reliable Watchman, I remember having him under my command. Excellent memory — perfect really — and he never lies. Couldn’t ask for a better witness. What did he say of the suspect in question, then?”

“Well, let’s see,” she said, flipping her pad open. “I believe he stated that…ah, yes! He was able to make a very positive, solid ID, of which he is very certain of, both of the suspect and, in fact, since he witnessed the action itself, can confirm the commission of the crime, as well.”

“Excellent!” Vimes said, and allowed himself the minor indulgence of rubbing his hands together just slightly; the idea of getting to take on another deity that had dared mess with his Watch, well, it was admittedly rather exciting. Perhaps he could get used to this role after all. “So who did he identify as our perp?”

She looked back up. “Well, according to Sergeant Dorfl, that would be…” she glanced back down at the pad, frowning slightly in the manner of a Watchman who is pretending to check their notes, but who has in fact already entirely memorised the information in question. She stared him square in the eye as she continued:

“His Grace Sir Samuel Vimes, formerly-deceased Duke of Ankh, former Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, whose current title appears to be…‘the God of Watchmen’?”

He stared. “…what.”

“Our perpetrator,” she said firmly. “Is Sir Samuel Vimes. Duke of Ankh. Former Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. Current God of Watchmen.”

“…are you—I would—! Are you accusing me of—!?”

“No,” she said calmly. “ _Sergeant Dorfl_ is. Do you mean to malign his reputation as a good Watchman and reliable witness, Sir? That would be awfully interesting, considering how greatly you praised him just a moment ago.”

“I — but — when did I ever—!?”

Her calm at last broke. At least slightly. She shot him an exasperated Look. “A little over a week ago! You _melted._ Our _bloody door!_ ”

“I…I did?”

“Yes!” she said. “You did! And it’s been letting rain in ever since! Do you know, my desk is the closest to it and I’ve had a novel and yes, it is absolute rubbish, but it’s _entertaining_  rubbish, and I’m only halfway through it and I’ve already noticed it mildewing! Gods know how any of my older active case files one drawer over are doing!”

“…oh.”

“Yes,” she said. “So, the question is, _Mr_ Vimes: _are you going to come quietly?”_

The shock of realizing what he had done and entirely forgotten doing, was quickly replaced by shock at the implications of that.

“Are…sorry, are you saying you are here to _arrest me?_ ”

“Well, I don’t know,” she said peevishly. “Do I _have_ to? Or are you going to see to it our Watch House isn’t open to the bloody elements anymore? It’s almost winter, you know! Next thing it’ll be snow and hail coming in, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let that happen, all because some sod-off new deity decided he couldn’t be arsed to rein his temper in and further couldn’t be arsed to follow the bloody _law_. Or do you plan to suggest the God _of Watchmen_ of all things, should be above it? Because I don’t buy that logic, especially after a week of _cold feet_ and _mildewing papers_ , thank you very much!”

He stared at her.  
  
She stared at him — or rather, glared.

She was entirely serious, he realised.

Entirely, utterly, one hundred percent serious. She would arrest him, if need be. Would arrest _a god._

Sam Vimes, newly-minted God of Watchmen, had a rare, fleeting moment of Epiphany just then, where he was forced to wonder if this was what it was like to be on the receiving end of Sam Vimes.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but…

“…can’t disagree there, I suppose,” he muttered.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she said, letting out a breath. “So…I take it you’ll be coming back with me to Ankh-Morpork? Peacefully?”

“I…suppose I am, then.”

She nodded, brightening considerably. “Right then! Do you need to make any sort of arrangements before we go, or can we leave now?”

There _was_ a Fancy Banquet of some sort, occurring shortly, that he had been informed that he was very much Expected to attend. They wanted him to dress up for it. RSVP. The whole lot. A whole lot of _fuss_ , really.

Free food aside, Sam Vimes had never had been much for Fancy Banquets.

“Actually,” he said. “As it so happens, your timing is _impeccable_ …”


End file.
